


Affidavit

by sysupportgroup



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Ace Attorney AU, Best Friends to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 19:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13255473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sysupportgroup/pseuds/sysupportgroup
Summary: A childhood promise and a saviour complex are absolutely the wrong reasons to become a defence attorney but that hasn't stopped Wonwoo.





	Affidavit

**Author's Note:**

> Winterstar Prompt #105: ace attorney snwu

“Hey boss,” Wonwoo tugs at his tie twitchily, disturbing the red Windsor knot for the nth time today, “are you sure I look professional enough?” He’s not the type to doubt himself, not usually. A quiet hardworking student, his highschool reports had all assured him, and an incredibly steadfast work ethic for a boy his age. In university, all he’d had to do was keep his head down and study until he passed out, a surefire formula for top marks. Now though, crushed in on all sides by the solemn bustle of the courthouse lobby, he has no desk to steady his head, no exam paper answer to read and revise three times over before handing it in. With a real defendant, the stakes are higher than a low 70.

 

Seungcheol gives him a funny look, perhaps amused at seeing this previously unexposed side of Wonwoo’s. It’s absolutely unneeded right now though and semi-cruel if Wonwoo’s honest. He’s in the mood for some reassurance, some comforting words and maybe a horse anaesthetic if it’s powerful enough to stop his mental freefall towards certain death. Unfortunately, his mentor is the only bungee cord available right now, however meagre and frayed.

 

“Boss?”

 

“Sorry Wonwoo,” Seungcheol jolts slightly, eyes crinkling as he extends his arm around Wonwoo’s shoulders and pulling him into his side, “I just realised how much you remind me of myself at my first trial.” He grins boyishly, like he’s the younger one here. “Stop worrying, like I said before, you look just like a qualified lawyer should.” He squeezes him, voice deeper, more mature like it should be, “You’ll do great. I wouldn’t have taken you on if I didn’t have faith in you. Also we’re not in court yet, hyung will do.”

 

Wonwoo snorts weakly, gaze darting around the lobby distractedly. “Let’s be honest _boss_ , you would’ve taken on anyone with minimum qualifications and a sob story. I just happened to beg first.” He’s not relaxed enough to refer to Seungcheol as anything but ‘boss’ yet, work mode still on. Has been on for the last forty-eight hours. Perhaps if they get through this trial unscathed.

 

“You wound me,” Seungcheol gasps, withdrawing his arm, faux-hurt like the softie he really is, “Choi and Co are professionals with high standards!”

 

“Try saying that to the Parks at the next networking brunch.” Wonwoo cracks his knuckles accidentally as he re-adjusts his grip on his worn briefcase, making Seungcheol wince at the discomforting noise. “I’m sure they’d be more than happy to laugh you out of there.”

 

“Well the Parks are buttheads,” Seungcheol retorts, tapering off into a near-whine. “You know Park and Park are just extortionists in disguise. That’s how they can keep bringing those huge platters of shrimp cocktail to the damn potluck.”

 

“Doesn’t stop you from taking half the shrimp every time,” Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, recalling how Seungcheol had made him hold the Tupperware during the last event, seafood allergy be damned apparently.

 

“Might as well milk those assholes for what they’re worth.” Seungcheol shrugs easily, grinning like he’s not slandering one of the top three law firms in Seoul, “Don’t worry, when you win this trial we’ll show them up with an even bigger platter.”

 

Wonwoo presses his lips into a tight line. “If I win.”

 

“When you win,” Seungcheol repeats, still cheery but an iron tang underpins his tone. “We’ll bring a massive sushi platter, extra tamago for you.”

 

The mention of tamago is enough to get Wonwoo to crack a small smile, casting his eyes downward to the briefcase dangling off his left hand, “Guess I better win then.”

 

“Yeah. And when you do, we’ll sneak Bohyuk into the next potluck with us. The kid’s all skin and bones - is it the Jeon genetics?”

 

Sound fades out at the mention of his brother and Wonwoo’s world narrows down to the small lone figure, flanked by two bored security guards near Courtroom Number Five as he mashes buttons on his PSP with red-rimmed eyes and a jittery leg. Wonwoo’s energy falters for a millisecond, exhaustion from pulling an all-nighter to revise his notes and case slamming into him like a cartoon anvil. Unlike the Roadrunner though, eons could pass and he’d still feel flattened and stunned. His mind, the helpful thing it is, brings back the memory of the stricken call he received two days ago from the police station, his younger brother teetering on the edge of tears. The last time he’d seen Bohyuk blubber was when they were kids. In retrospect, rucking up a fake treasure hunt to send his brother on in hopes of getting enough quiet time to finish _Great Expectations_ leads only to dashed ones when you’re forced out of the house to find him halfway up a tree, a crimson gash in his leg and a concoction of salty tears, snot and dirt caking his face. Bohyuk had never let him forget it.

 

“ -woo? Jeon Wonwoo, yah!”

 

Wonwoo hefts his briefcase into his arms, hugging it close to his torso. “Sorry.”

 

Seungcheol softens as he meets Wonwoo’s eyes with his own, gently grabbing his chin and tilting his face upwards like a parent would, “You know, I’d say those eye bags are heavy enough to murder with but well... Too topical, I know.” His lips twist to the side, all joking pretense dropped in favour of a slanted frown, “I shouldn’t have let you take those files home with you last night.”

 

Wonwoo averts his gaze to the exhilarating view of Courtroom Number Four’s oaken doors, making a face. No use. Anyone would feel Seungcheol’s brand of disappointed from fifty kilometres away. His new field of vision only makes him feel worse, showing him the glint of the guards’ guns as they give the pair a dubious once over. He stiffens up and turns back to face his mentor, regarding him silently.

 

“Look,” Seungcheol starts after a few seconds of pause, “I’m not great at motivational speeches.” It’s a confession but a bullshit one. Just the other day, Seungcheol had singlehandedly secured another much needed addition to their office, a foreign one too by the sound of it, through a simple twenty minute talk on the phone. “But that’s okay because you do a great job of motivating yourself, especially when there’s something - or someone - personal at stake.”

 

Wonwoo blinks twice. “Oh.” He’d forgotten that Seungcheol knew about _him._ He says as much but Seungcheol just smiles, verging on teasing when he reminds him of their drinking outing in Hongdae a couple of months ago, celebrating Wonwoo’s official addition to the firm.

 

(“So,” Seungcheol slurred out as they staggered together towards the office, streets empty save for people like them in dishevelled work-appropriate dress trying to shrug off the capitalist burdens of the world, “Jeon Wonwoo, my second and most loyal protege. You never told me, really told me I mean. Why’dya become a lawyer? No one switches degrees that late into second year - _yes_ I actually read your academic transcript! And from literature too?” Seungcheol blew a raspberry, spit spraying the pole they’d nearly crashed into when Wonwoo had suddenly lost control of his motor functions, “You that keen on the money or something?”

 

“Money?” Wonwoo hiccupped, eyes bleary but still grinning like a loon as they zig-zagged across the footpath dangerously, Seungcheol bearing most of the weight. A cyclist rang their bell heatedly from behind before giving up and circling around them, using the near empty road as an extension of the path. “As if. My lifelong dream was to be a struggling artist.” He threw his head back and guffawed, nose scrunched tight because it’s true. The last thing he’d ever wanted was a white collar office type of job where he’d die surrounded by reports and polite blank smiles. Coming to a tiny but upcoming firm like Choi and Co was the narrow miss of that nightmare God had granted him.

 

“Wonwoo. Confess.” Seungcheol grunted as Wonwoo leaned into him, apparently doing his best to lie horizontally across Seungcheol’s shoulders like a log, “It’s always money, sex or pride. So if not money then...?”

 

Wonwoo lost his two way battle with the broadness of Seungcheol’s back and gravity and rolled gracelessly onto the ground. He stared at the starless sky, spread out in a pile of snapped string limbs and smiled wistfully at the moon.

 

“Neither, hyung. This was for love.”)

 

“Dig up that persistence again,” Seungcheol is saying when Wonwoo returns to earth, colour dusting his ears from the memory. “You can win this trial - for love, for your brother.”

 

“For my mum,” Wonwoo musters up a deadpan, trembling only slightly when someone signals to them to enter the courtroom, “so she won’t despise her only remaining son if this goes south.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“The court is now in session for the trial of Jeon Bohyuk.” The elderly judge smacks his gavel down, smiling all too benevolently for Wonwoo’s liking. No one should be pleased with  presiding over a murder trial, of all things. “It’s nice to see you today Prosecutor Hong.”

 

“Nice to see you too, Your Honour.” The man standing at the prosecutor’s bench dips his head in acknowledgement. His hair is a toned down auburn, complementing the woollen grey of his suit and tie. Soft, is the way Wonwoo would describe him, and pretty too. Pretty enough to make him falter for a second, just a tinge starstruck. The badge pinned to his lapel confirms that the man is indeed standing in the right place, not the stenographer perhaps or a bailiff who lost their way. Wonwoo would have never guessed otherwise, he’s always been under the assumption that prosecutors needed to be more on the ruthless side. Prosecutor Hong, though, looks as gentle as a lamb. “The prosecution is ready.”

 

“The defence is ready too - urgh!”

 

Wonwoo swallows down his surprised croak and gives his boss a glare. “What the heck?”

 

“I can _feel_ you underestimating him,” Seungcheol hisses in his ear, poking him in the side and making Wonwoo startle in the midst of affirming the defence’s preparedness. “Jisoo is not an innocent lamb, there’s a reason he’s a prosecutor. You should be more nervous than before, not less.”

 

“I wasn’t underestimating him,” Wonwoo retorts but Seungcheol’s disbelieving expression doesn’t budge. “Okay fine, maybe I was underestimating him a little but come on boss,” he casts a pointed glance over at their opponent flicking through his documents with delicate wrists, “he doesn’t really fit the ‘Rookie Killer’ image.”

 

“Not at first,” Seungcheol says grimly as the judge calls them back to attention, “but his true colours come out in time.”

 

“Geez,” Wonwoo can feel sweat beginning to bead on his nose bridge, lubricating the inevitable descent of his round frames. “Are you sure you guys are friends? You’re making him sound incredibly sinister right now.”

 

“In-court and out-of-court matters are completely different,” Seungcheol points out, smiling big at the judge’s impatient expression aimed at their bench, “he’s hardly going to make me his signature lasagna during trial.”

 

“Ahem, if the defence are quite done chattering,” His Honour sniffs loudly, nose big and red. “Attorney Choi - sorry, Counsel Choi today, I recall - would you care to introduce your firm’s newest addition to the court? He’s quite the mysterious newcomer, especially taking on a murder case for his first trial.”

 

“Your Honour, I’d be delighted to.” Seungcheol leans on the back wall, smiling with the natural kind of aegyo charm he pulls out on special occasions. “This is Defence Attorney Jeon, you could call him my protege.” His boss smirks and Wonwoo wonders if he ought to feel so much like a debutante at her first ball right now, slipping a toe into the shark-infested waters of the elite. “He worked with me during his placement and I’m glad such a competent graduate liked Choi and Co enough to stay.”

 

“At least you actually have a ‘Co’ now, Choi,” Prosecutor Hong remarks wryly, “if my memory serves me right, wasn’t it a one-man show prior to Attorney Jeon here?”

 

Seungcheol waves him aside cheekily. “Like I said Prosecutor Hong, I’m glad Attorney Jeon chose to stay. If anything, we can live up to our name now.”

 

“If the prosecution and the counsel for the defence could stop squabbling across my courtroom,” the judge clears his throat, shuffling his papers, “perhaps we could remember that a murder trial is supposed to take place some time today?”

 

“Ah,” Prosecutor Hong colours, coughing politely, “my apologies, Your Honour. With your permission, the prosecution will proceed with the opening statement.”

 

“So much for separating in-court and out-of-court matters,” Wonwoo remarks lowly, the pressure on his chest lifting a little at Seungcheol’s shamefaced snicker. He spreads his documents across the stand, letting Prosecutor Hong’s voice fade out as he delivers his opening. Wonwoo’s revised the details of the case numerous times over the last 48 hours, the last thing he needs is another version of the facts but this time, with the foregone conclusion pointing ‘guilty’. Wonwoo is the epitome of composure, the epitome.

 

“Attorney Jeon?”

 

“Yes, Your Honour!” He shoots up so quickly that his back protests the jerk, sending a spike of pain through him. The judge stares back at him, slightly unnerved. Wonwoo realises vaguely that the strain in his eyes is coming from staring so widely at His Honour, a disquieting saucer-plate gaze probably amplified by his spectacles. He shakes his head minutely, trying to brush off the nerves. He could at least try to look like he knows what he’s doing.

 

“No you _haven’t_ been listening to the prosecution’s opening statement?”

 

“No! I mean. Yes. Yes I have,” he blurts out, palms clammy under the bespectacled stare directed at him.

 

His Honour clears his throat noisily. “Well then, please recite to the court the victim’s name and cause of death.”

 

Wonwoo coughs, the gallery’s eyes arresting him in a spotlight of stares. It reminds him of elementary school all over again. “The victim’s name was Kim Mika. She was killed by blunt force trauma, hit once with an object.”

 

It’s strange to be talking about his brother’s ex-girlfriend in such impersonal terms even though they broke up early this year. The feeling was worse when he’d viewed the crime scene photos in a bid to avoid visiting the scene altogether. He remembers Bohyuk bringing her over to meet him on one of his infrequent trips home before, her confidence winning him over grudgingly. His brother had been far more nervous than warranted, spamming Wonwoo with KKT messages two weeks in advance to not scare her away with embarrassing stories or his weird yelling when he gamed in his room. (Nothing had been said about baby photos though.) Those days seem far away though, entirely removed from the worn wood of the courtroom furnishings and restless public spectators baying for blood or rather, drama.

 

“Alright, thank you Attorney Jeon. Please try to look like you’re paying attention in the future.”

 

Seungcheol pats his back and Wonwoo exhales slowly, pushing all his mangled troubled feelings downwards. Compartmentalisation, that’s a thing humans can do.

 

“Prosecution, please enlighten the court as to what this blunt object was.”

 

“Well,” Prosecutor Hong smiles unassumingly at the gallery, sending a slight ripple of female whispers through the crowd. Ah, looks like low-level murder cases aren’t popular for the reason Wonwoo thought. He doesn’t know if he should be reassured or not by that. “Our detectives found this golden statue at the scene next to the body.” The screens at the front of the court suddenly flicker, displaying a picture of said statue, stained with blood, and Wonwoo lets out a small curse under his breath. “As you can see, this is a statue in the shape of ‘the Thinker’. Apparently the defendant likes tinkering in his spare time and made this for the victim whilst they were still dating.” Bohyuk had made one for everyone, Wonwoo has the ill-advised urge to add, even insisted that their mother display theirs in the living room.

 

The judge nods his head solemnly and acknowledges it as evidence.

 

“You can examine that whenever you want,” Seungcheol reminds him, observing the trial’s proceedings with keen eyes. “The court record’s accessible to you. Information about the victim and other documents like the autopsy should be in there too, if you don’t have your copy. The bailiff will bring over whatever evidence from the prosecution’s side if you request for it but just make sure to handle it carefully.” He pauses for thought, “I nearly set off a gun once.”

 

“If Your Honour permits,” Prosecutor Hong hums, “the prosecution would like to call its first witness.”

 

“Proceed.”

 

“The prosecution calls the defendant, Jeon Bohyuk to the stand.”

 

Wonwoo’s fists tighten. If possible, his mangled troubled feelings become even more of a pulpy vomit-resembling mess. Not an innocent lamb indeed, Seungcheol was right. In his view, defendants are already vulnerable. To call them up for further examination is not only humiliating, it’s downright tricky. He’s seen one too many inadvertent confessions or misinterpreted admissions of fact slickly elicited from the stand, egging on the hark for a guilty verdict.

 

Bohyuk will have to watch his words carefully, Wonwoo thinks to himself, tense as the bailiff escorts him in wearing handcuffs. His brother’s mouth is pinched, jaw clenched. Wonwoo adjusts his glasses grimly, eyeing the prosecution with new resolve. Prosecutor Hong wears no expression, face neutral save for the way his mouth naturally curls into smug upticks at both corners.

 

No way will Hong get anything out from his brother, neither a confession nor tears.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hello Mr Jeon.” Prosecutor Hong says, smiling that sweet smile as Bohyuk shuffles uncomfortably on the stand. A true wolf in disguise. “Please don’t feel intimidated, being on the witness stand. All we’re looking for is the truth - give us that and you’ll be fine.” Right. If _that’s_ the truth, Wonwoo’s going to eat his own briefcase.

 

“... Alright,” Bohyuk mumbles, shoulders drooping from where they were gathered around his ears.

 

“Just say what comes to mind.” Prosecutor Hong gives him a nod, too familiar, “Don’t stress.”

 

 _Yes, stress,_ Wonwoo wants to scream telepathically across the courtroom, eyes boring holes into his brother’s head, _keep your guards up._

 

“Alright then, when you’re comfortable,” Prosecutor Hong announces, projecting, “please state your name and occupation for the court.”

 

“Jeon Bohyuk. I’m an engineering student.”

 

“Interesting that you have the same last name as our debuting attorney over here, isn’t it?” Prosecutor Hong remarks casually, glancing over his documents, “Wouldn’t it be funny if you two were related.” He plays it like an off-handed comment, blatantly ignoring the sudden look of discomfort on Bohyuk’s face. Wonwoo realises belatedly that he’s gripping his copy of the autopsy so hard his left hand is starting to cramp. _Don’t take the bait_ , he thinks to his brother fervently, _don’t take the bait_. _I’ll come home more often, take you out for bingsoo every other week. Anything. Just don’t._

 

The judge chuckles from his perch, “What an imagination you have, Prosecutor Hong. Now wouldn’t that be a coincidence.”

 

Bohyuk hesitates. “Actually - “

 

Wonwoo can’t suffer through this anymore. “Object-”

 

Seungcheol grabs his hands before he can slam them down on the bench, wrenching them away. Shit, he forgot how much Seungcheol works out.

 

“He can’t tell the court that we’re brothers,” Wonwoo snatches his hands back from his mentor’s grasp, clenching them at his sides. His brows are set in a deep crease, the first steps on their journey to becoming permanent wrinkles, “the judge is going to think I’m biased or something.”

 

“You’re his defence attorney, of course you’re biased.” Seungcheol glares back at him, “Where’s that calm calculating asshole I hired?” He tuts. “Look, the truth is going to come out eventually, if not now then later. Pick your battles Wonwoo, know that saying Mr Literature Major? Make Jisoo think he’s won this one and you could win the war.”

 

“Those are two different sayings,” Wonwoo says like it’s automatic but there’s no air of superiority in his tone, he doesn’t even dwell on it. It’s an old habit, a creature comfort. Correcting people for him is his equivalent to a worn security blanket that’s falling apart at the seams. He has more pressing concerns these days though, “but I think I know what you mean. Let him expose Bohyuk and I to make him think he’s won, right? Make him underestimate me.”

 

“Exactly.” Seungcheol gives him an approving nod, earnest. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

 

“I feel like I’m throwing Bohyuk to the wolves though,” Wonwoo stares at his brother, slumped in the exact middle of the stand like he’s afraid the rails will bite him, “and my own pride.” _Also_ , the niggling voice chirping at the back of his skull peeps, _if he cries you might too._ What a debut that would be.

 

As if sibling telepathy has finally kicked in, Bohyuk raises his head and meets his eyes questioningly. _Do I tell them?_

 

“He’s a tough one,” his boss says quietly, reading Wonwoo’s trepidations all too well, “he learnt from the best.”

 

Wonwoo licks his lips and raises his fist just above the top of the bench, shaking it slightly. _Fighting_ , he mouths, giving him the go ahead.

 

“Was that an attempt at an objection, Attorney Jeon?” The judge peers down at him, offering a helpful titbit, “Perhaps you could actually finish saying the word next time.”

 

“No,” Wonwoo grits out as politely as he can, “it wasn’t.”

 

“I hardly think my little joke warranted an objection,” Prosecutor Hong laughs. Apparently it’s dazzling enough for someone in the crowd to swoon. No one else blinks an eye as a long-suffering guard piggybacks a limp body out of the spectator stands so Wonwoo supposes it’s a pretty regular occurrence in Hong’s trials. “Unless there was a grain of truth in it. Mr Jeon?”

 

“Well, we actually are. Brothers. I mean,” Bohyuk admits, chin tipped high though he worries his bottom lip all the while.

 

Shock spreads across the public spectators like a wave, murmurs rising in volume until the judge has to bang his gavel for silence. Even his eyebrows are raised though, two comic caterpillars doing a strange mating dance on his forehead.

 

“Well,” the judge harrumphs, strangely amused, “this is an interesting development.”

 

“If I may comment,” Seungcheol coughs politely, nodding at His Honour who gives him a nod back, “I don’t believe their relation to each other will affect the trial, Your Honour. The defendant specifically requested Attorney Jeon to defend him and the court should respect that decision.”

 

“Well-spoken Counsel Choi,” the judge ponders the thought and resolves the matter with a simple shrug. Anticlimactic really, “I’m sure it will be fine. There is hardly time for another attorney to prepare in time, these three-day time-limits are so pesky these days. Does the prosecution have any objections to Attorney Jeon continuing to represent the defendant?”

 

“Not at all Your Honour,” Prosecutor Hong answers placatingly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, “the prosecution concurs that the defendant’s decisions should be respected. As well as their respective consequences, of course.”

 

“Your fairness is noted, Prosecutor.” The judge says in an approving tone that frankly sets Wonwoo’s blood on fire though he holds it back. Yet another plaster over a gushing cut. “Now, if you could please begin your questioning.”

 

“Ah yes,” Prosecutor Hong pulls out another plastic baggie from his side of the bench, “this was Miss Kim’s passport, entered into the court record for the court’s convenience. We found it on top of her dresser, showing she had returned from a trip to Paris the day before the murder. A little further digging by our detectives revealed that she had went there with someone else who was not Mr Jeon here. Interestingly though, the tickets were purchased under his name. Mr Jeon, could you explain this to the court please?”

 

“Ah,” Bohyuk says blankly, “Right.”

 

“You did purchase these tickets, is that correct?” Prosecutor Hong asks soothingly.

  
“Yeah,” Bohyuk mumbles numbly, eyes drifting. “I bought them for us last year as a second anniversary present. We were meant to go together for our third.”

 

“And when did she break up with you?”

 

“New Years.” His tone is bitter, sounding exactly like the spurned ex-boyfriend the prosecution is trying to paint him as. Wonwoo knows better, that the hatred is all turned inwards on Bohyuk’s part. The Jeon brothers had never been good at managing studies and a healthy love life, a see-saw that never balanced out.

 

“So before your third anniversary.” Prosecutor Hong’s tone is conclusive, brooking no answers longer than a monosyllabic yes or no.

 

“Yes.”

 

“And she still took both tickets?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And went with someone else - her new boyfriend, yes?”

 

Bohyuk takes a deep breath, “Yes.”

 

“Do you know who he was? Our records show you attended the same high school?”

 

“Yeah, I knew him. He - “

 

“ - was your rival, wasn’t he?” Prosecutor Hong gently steamrolls over whatever answer Bohyuk was about to provide, “Your teachers provided affidavits testifying to the fact that he beat you out for an important scholarship you both applied for in your final year.”

 

“I don’t know if I’d say - “

 

“It must have made the breakup worse,” Prosecutor Hong murmurs sympathetically. “You must’ve been angry when you found out who she dumped you for.”

 

“I wasn’t really _angry_. I - “

 

“Angry.” Prosecutor Hong splays his palms out, placating, as the murmurings of the crowd roar into blatant suspicion, “Angry enough to confront her in her apartment on the 15th of June and in an unexpected fit of rage, unfortunately - “

 

“Objection!” Wonwoo manages to get the entire word out this time, smacking his hands down on the dented wooden surface that has probably seen worse, “That is a completely unsubstantiated conclusion, Your Honour. There is no evidence that Jeon Bohyuk went to the victim’s place on the day of the murder.”

 

He’s grasping at straws. He knows Bohyuk did, he had admitted as much in the detention centre. He trusts in his brother though, trusts he’s telling the truth when he said Mika hadn’t been home at the time of his visit. But he can see the corner he’s being backed into, can see the walls beginning to close around him and his case. All he can hope for is a spot of weakness in the prosecution’s case, a chink in the armour somewhere.

 

“Ah,” Prosecutor Hong’s eyes widen, “evidence?” He purses his lips apologetically and turns to the gallery then the front of the courtroom, inclining his head, “Apologies to the court. It slipped my mind to mention this at the beginning, but we don’t actually have evidence to show.”

 

Cold dread strangles Wonwoo’s internal organs. That can’t be the end of it, the Rookie Killer never has less than three aces up his sleeve.

 

“We do however,” Prosecutor Hong says melodiously, an ominous sound, “have a witness.”

 

“Fucking hell Jisoo,” Seungcheol utters like a death knell, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What a trap.”

 

The judge makes a noise of interest, quieting down the upsurge of ruckus, “And who is this witness?”

 

“A chicken delivery boy, Your Honour,” Prosecutor Hong supplies. “He was delivering food to an apartment a few doors down when he saw the defendant flee from the scene of the crime. And when he went to investigate,” Hong looks down regretfully, eyes cast to the side, “he made the gruesome discovery of the victim’s body.”

 

“Order, order! Well this is quite a development - a decisive witness. Prosecution, please call this witness as soon as possible.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“We’ve run through cross-examination procedure in the office, Wonwoo,” Seungcheol lectures him gently, prising his bony fingers off his sleeve one by one as Wonwoo fixates on one very small cartoon boob, doodled on the side of the judge’s bench facing the defence. He’s busy doing his best impression of deep-breathing exercises. “Just keep your wits about you.

 

“I don’t know if pretending the witness is in their underwear will work this time, boss.”

 

“Oh,” Seungcheol stares past him, amused as the delivery boys climbs onto the stand and swears in, unperturbed by the increased hubbub, “I don’t think you’ll have to imagine anything this time. On lucky occasions, reality does surpass the imagination.”

 

Wonwoo turns his head to look and can barely keep his jaw from falling open. He never thought someone so keen on public humiliation, so ridiculously shameless, existed in this world. Who else would wear their delivery uniform, inclusive of a chicken head-shaped helmet and a jacket decked out in faux feathery plumage, to testify? At least Prosecutor Hong looks faintly displeased with his star witness, a far cry from the serenity of his usual conduct, and that’s plenty to get Wonwoo’s confidence levels up. He’s got this. Decisive witnesses are chicken shit compared to his conviction in his brother’s innocence.

 

“Please state your name and occupation for the court.”

 

“Ahn Jungnam,” the guy reels off peppily, too happy for someone in their late-twenties stuck in a low-paying part-time, “Delivery guy for CC Chicken.” He beams so wide Wonwoo’s scared his cheeks are gonna split and flaps his arms like two spindly chicken wings. “Come have a cluckin’ good time!”

 

“Ah.” Prosecutor Hong sums up the ensuing atmosphere with a singular exhale, moving on briskly, “Thank you Mr Ahn. We don’t want to keep you too long, I’m sure you have deliveries to get to, so we’ll proceed straight to your testimony regarding the day of the murder. Whenever you’re ready.”

 

“Oh,” Ahn seems to deflate as much as his chipper attitude will let him, bright red comb on his headgear drooping a little, “I thought I’d be able to hand out some flyers or something first. You guys just wanna hear about what I saw?”

 

“Yes,” Prosecutor Hong says slowly, “yes we do. You did discover the body after all and apparently saw someone leaving the scene of the crime. I’m sure you’ll be able to distribute your flyers later, maybe in the lobby.”

 

“Aww, okay!” The feathers, quite literally, perk up with his mood, “So I was delivering chicken to the victim’s building and once I did that, I decided to drop some flyers under people’s doorways! That’s when I found the body.” He waves a handful of colourful red flyers in the air in the direction of the gallery and trills, “And speaking of the victim, we’ve got some killer combo deals in store right now everyone, really egg-cellent! Catch me in the lobby later for some vouchers!

 

“Hold on,” Wonwoo interrupts, grimacing as all eyes turn to him, “the defence submits that the combo deals at CC Chicken are irrelevant to the current case.”

 

“Prosecutor Hong, your response?”

 

“No objections, Your Honour.” The prosecution adds quickly, “Mr Ahn, please keep irrelevant mentions of your company out of your testimony.”

 

“Alright, sustained,” the judge huffs, smacking his lips as he eyes the stand. Wonwoo thinks he hears his stomach rumbling. “Though I would request that the prosecution keep one of Mr Ahn’s flyers for me after the trial.”

 

“What’s that saying about how justice waits for no one?” Seungcheol laughs quietly in Wonwoo’s ear, acquired to the absurdity of the judge, “Apparently there are exceptions for stomachs.”

 

Prosecutor Hong smiles wryly as Ahn’s jacket puffs up with pride, littering several white feathers on the ground, “Will do, Your Honour. For now though, I’m sure the court is very interested in how Mr Ahn here discovered the victim’s body.” He nods at the stand and waits patiently for the man to catch on.

 

“Oh! Yeah, so I was delivering flyers and then I found a door that was wide open already. I went over to see and then, well,” he shudders melodramatically, “I saw a dead body bleeding out on the floor and,” he crosses his arms smugly, delivering the fatal testimony with a victory cluck of his tongue, “the defendant running away towards the stairs.”

 

“Hold it! Are you sure that it was the defendant?” Wonwoo presses, features taut, “How sure are you?.”

 

“I’m certain.” The delivery guy cards a hand cockily through the stupid chicken comb on top of his helmet, “It was definitely him.”

 

“What time was this?” Prosecutor Hong intervenes tactfully, making a note, “When you found the body and saw the defendant running away.”

 

“One pm. Exactly.”

 

Wonwoo squints. Something about that sounds off.

 

“What did you do then?”

 

“I called the police,” he says with conviction, nodding his head furiously, “I tried to use her hallway phone first but it wasn’t working so I had to go downstairs to find a public one.”

 

Wonwoo drums his fingers on the benchtop tightly, still mulling over the factual disjoint that must’ve passed him by, and interjects distractedly, “Hang on. Why didn’t you use your cellphone?”

 

“I don’t keep it with me,” Ahn shrugs, patting himself down in demonstration. Sure enough, it’s all feathers and no pockets, “my mobile’s gotta stay with my bike.”

 

“Okay,” Wonwoo frowns, “but then why wasn’t Miss Kim’s hallway phone working?”  

 

“Beats me.“

 

“Ah I can explain this one.” Prosecutor Hong holds up a document, “There was a blackout at the time of the murder. All connected electronics in the building would have been unavailable. I’ll submit this into the court record.”

 

“Wonwoo?” An elbow inserts itself between his ribs, jolting him out of his meditative silence.  His thoughts are racing, trying to put his finger on that one thing, slightly out of place. “Do you want to examine it?”

 

“The blackout record, right?” His brother is innocent so there’s no way Ahn’s testimony can be completely accurate. Contradictions, there’s one waiting to be found. “Yeah sure.”

 

“Cool,” Seungcheol retrieves the document from the bailiff and makes to hand it over to him. He startles when Wonwoo straightens suddenly, brushing his hand aside in favour of rifling through his own briefcase files, “Wonwoo?”

 

“Hang on,” Wonwoo hisses, shuffling through papers at frantic speed, “I knew there was something off about what that guy just said. The time.” He _ah-hah_ ’s as he comes across what he’s looking for, holding it up triumphantly in classic anime-protagonist style.

 

“A copy of the autopsy?” Seungcheol asks curiously, “What about it?”

 

“Care to share with the court, Attorney Jeon?” The judge peers down at him inquiringly and it occurs to Wonwoo that the court’s gone quiet. He can’t even bring himself to care.

 

“Yes.” Wonwoo scans the paper again, smirk adorning his face growing sharkier, “Could the witness please state what time he discovered the body, once more for the court to hear?”

 

“One pm,” Ahn projects challengingly. “I’m sure of it.”

 

“You sound awfully confident about that,” Wonwoo hums as he sizes chicken boy up, “I wouldn’t be so sure. See the autopsy report here,” he rustles the paper with a much-needed touch of arrogance, “says that time of death was estimated at after five pm. There was nothing to find - rather, no-body to find - at one. Explain yourself, Mr Ahn.”

 

“I - “ his face whitens, paler than the milky white feathers encasing his head, “Shit. I - um… I guess I just. Got the time wrong.”

 

“Got the time wrong?” Wonwoo asks. The stucco is crumbling under cross-examination, revealing the brick front of lies underneath. He’s even managed to eke out a frown from Prosecutor Hong himself, “But you were so certain, weren’t you?”

 

“Well I...” Ahn hedges, prompting Wonwoo to lean further forward, glower fully in place, “I guess I just um - heard the time! I heard the time wrong.” He smiles shakily, “There must’ve been a taped program or something playing on the tv and I just, got it wrong. Sorry.”

 

“You heard the time wrong.” Wonwoo repeats, sceptical. A cock and bull story if he’s ever heard one.

 

“A simple overlook,” Prosecutor Hong says apologetically. “It’s not the worst of matters, is it?”

 

“We’ll see about that,” Wonwoo mutters to himself and switches his focus to his counsel, “Boss, where’s that blackout report from earlier?”

 

“Smart.” Seungcheol whispers approvingly to him, eyes wide and proud as he hands it over.

 

“This,” Wonwoo brandishes the report, tapping the words on the paper thoughtfully, “was presented to the court earlier by the prosecution. This shows that electricity was out at the time of discovery, therefore,” he pauses to let the news sink in, “you couldn’t have heard the time from a program, recorded or otherwise.”

 

Ahn squawks agitatedly and more of the feathers fly off his jacket, leaving a thin carpet of white around the witness stand, “Wait! No, I - I saw the time!”

 

“How many times is he going to revise his testimony,” Seungcheol comments, clearly amused at Ahn’s oncoming breakdown. “He’s not going to have any feathers left soon.”

 

“You saw the time?” Wonwoo posits, ironing out the sadistic twitch of his lips.

 

“Yeah,” Ahn grips the railing of the witness stand, back rigid, “I saw it. Right on the murder weapon, the damn clock. On the table!”

 

Gotcha.

 

“The weapon was submitted to be a statue. Not a clock,” Wonwoo retaliates, tracking Prosecutor Hong’s movements behind the prosecution’s bench in his peripheral. From his vantage point, he can see the man turning something over in his hand, examining it closer through the plastic bag. The funny thing is that he already knows what he’s looking for. He sees Prosecutor Hong’s mouth form a small ‘O’ and hold the statue up to his ear, blinking in surprise. Wonwoo squares his shoulders. There it is.

 

“If I could have the attention of the court,” Prosecutor Hong calls out, holding the statue up for attention. “There is an important piece of information we did not know about the murder weapon. Please listen carefully.”

 

He tilts the neck of the statue and a tinny voice rings out.

 

_“I think it’s… 9.28.”_

 

“So that’s why it’s shaped like ‘the Thinker’,” Seungcheol marvels, eyebrows hidden by his hairline. “Tell your brother I’m impressed. Or rather,” he beams, “I’ll tell him myself. After his ‘not guilty’ verdict. You’ve got this.”

 

Ah, it’s all coming together now… Yeah, he’s got this.

 

“So it _is_ a clock,” the judge claps his hands together, “quite exciting.”

 

“Yes,” Prosecutor Hong says gracefully, “apologies for the oversight, Your Honour. As you can see though, Mr Ahn’s testimony is accurate regarding the murder weapon.”

 

“But Prosecutor Hong,” Wonwoo folds his arms impassively, ignoring the wild looks coming his way from the witness stand, “there is still something lacking in your decisive witness’ testimony. I’d like for Mr Ahn to explain how he could have known the statue was a clock - unless he went into Miss Kim’s apartment, which he previously testified against doing, and sounded it himself.”

 

“Ah,” Prosecutor Hong is taken aback, his well-practiced decorum faltering in direct proportion to the increasing downward slope of his eyebrows, lips parted to retaliate, “well.”

 

“I put it to you,” Wonwoo continues, addressing Ahn directly this time, “that on the day of the murder, you did go into Miss Kim’s apartment. You picked up the clock from the table and when she came across you, struck her with it and triggered the time. That’s why you were so certain it was one o’clock.”

 

“Yah!” The witness snarls, ripping off his helmet, letting the empty chicken head roll. “You accuse every witness that comes in here? With no proof? I only came in here to testify!”

 

“To prevent yourself from being discovered as the murderer,” Wonwoo counters with a withering glare. “To indict an innocent party. That’s why you came in here.”

 

“Proof!” The man is practically foaming at the mouth, not at all like the pleasant CC Chicken employee of the year he was at the start. Wonwoo knew no one in a dead-end job could be _that_ happy. Prosecutor Hong jumps slightly, eyes wide as a lamb’s and Wonwoo feels a twinge of sympathy. This was probably not how he wanted his trial to go. “I demand proof!”

 

“If you recall the time the clock announced earlier,” Wonwoo presses on intently, sweat beading at his temples, “it wasn’t accurate. It was - “ he looks to Seungcheol, “what time was it?”

 

“It was five-ish. So four hours behind.”

 

“ - four hours behind.” He taps his chin slowly, the exact kind of smug that makes him want to punch other people in the face but he’s enjoying all too much right now, “Wasn’t that the same time discrepancy that you heard on the day of the murder?”

 

“Attorney Jeon, if I may,” Prosecutor Hong speaks up, regarding him seriously across the room. It seems he’s recovered his gentlemanly poise. “To accuse my witness of being the murderer is fairly ambitious as it is. You require direct proof of his guilt, do you understand? You have not presented anything concrete to the court, save theories based on a,” he winces, probably regretting bringing Ahn into any institution of law, “heavily revised testimony.”

 

“The prosecution is correct,” the judge adds, looking a whole lot more disgruntled than Wonwoo last saw him, “Attorney Jeon, unless you can show without doubt, that the clock was indeed running four hours slow on that day or provide us with some other form of proof, I cannot in good faith let you indict the witness.”

 

“Your Honour,” Wonwoo says as levelly as he can, fighting the urge to yell or run over and behead the cocky chicken guy himself, “I must impress on you that the witness did testify, on record, that the clock was running four hours slow.”

 

“And I must impress on you,” the judge says at a plodding pace, “that evidence is always key. Theories are accepted only when proof can be supplied, especially considering that this individual is for the time being, simply a civilian bystander.”

 

“Your Honour - “

 

“Quiet. Attorney Jeon, I have no choice in this matter. As it stands, if you cannot bring me any more evidence, Mr Ahn Jungnam’s cross-examination will end here.”

 

This can’t be it.

 

A sinking feeling yanks his stomach down down down to the swirling depths of his gut. It’s like he’s eleven all over again, one week from twelve and discovering his best friend had disappeared off the face of the earth.

 

(“Did he go on a holiday?” a younger Wonwoo had asked his mother seriously, squinting up at her face. His thick glasses were M.I.A at the moment ( _it stands for Missing in Action_ , he’d had to explain when his best friend had wanted to play spies in the local library, _it means that an important thing or person is gone but no one knows how_ ). They had, however, been knocked clean off his face when said best friend had grabbed his wrist and started running towards the sliding glass doors, all attempts at covert rolling forgotten as he shrieked something about a supervillain with chompy metal teeth in pursuit. Wonwoo had looked back in bemusement as a librarian barked at them, advancing with one golden tooth glinting in the rays of the setting sun and thought that Auntie Kwon should watch a little less James Bond when her son was around.

 

“Ah...“ His mother surveyed his solemn face and brushed a thumb over his cheek, “Not exactly. He went somewhere, out of the country.”

 

“Isn’t that a holiday though?” At the prime point of oncoming tweenagerdom, he’d been full of all the arrogance reading the entire junior dictionary could afford him, “An overseas vacation.”

 

“Wonwoo dear,” his mother heaved a sigh too big for her frame, like if she exhaled for a few seconds longer enough there wouldn’t be enough air to support her at all. There’s an unfamiliar shine in her eyes that Wonwoo doesn’t like, “Soonyoung’s... It’s not a holiday. Soonyoungie’s not coming back.”

 

He had stared up at his mother, uncomprehending and still a little confused. “Where’d he go? Does that mean he can’t come to my party?”

 

“Ah Wonwoo-yah,” she’d laughed then sniffled, the glint in her eyes transforming into a wavering tear rolling down the plane of her cheek, “no, I’m sorry. He won’t be able to come. No one knows where he went. After Auntie Kwon…” She pales and pauses, shaking her head vigorously, swiping at her eyes. Wonwoo carefully helps her dab away her tears with the sleeve of his shirt, not understanding the reason for them but wanting to be strong all the same. She had to be misunderstanding something, Soonyoung always came back. He was like one of those small bouncy balls attached to a toy paddle, straying a little ways but forever returning. Reliable. Even after Wonwoo sometimes crossed the line a little too far, making fun of him for wanting to marry all of Shinee when he was older or scaring him with a fake spider on his shoulder, Soonyoung _always_ stomped his sulky way back to him. “Well, we think a relative took him away. ”

 

But then his birthday party rolled around and Soonyoung hadn’t been there. Well, no one save for his parents and brother, had been there. His parents had cooed anxiously over him as he’d stomped up to his room in tears, slamming the door for good measure and ignoring all peace offerings at his door. They’d been worried for the wrong reason though, terrified that their loner son had been rejected by all his classmates. Please, that had happened a long while ago. In reality, Soonyoung had been the only one he’d invited - he’d stuffed the rest of the printed out invitations his parents had made into the trash. There was only one person he’d wanted to gorge himself on cake with after all, and that was his best friend. Everyone else in Class 6B be damned.

 

After the party incident, Wonwoo had been forced to face up to Soonyoung’s, perhaps more than temporary, absence in his life. He’d started small: sneaking out of the house to stand in front of the Kwon’s place, a twenty-minute trek through dark sloping roads and clumps of parked cars, staring blankly at the empty windows and large ‘For Sale’ sign posted in front. When the sign had finally been taken down, the ‘For Sale’ plastered over with a fire-engine red ‘Sold’, and new residents had taken up the spaces the two-membered family had left, Wonwoo had mostly given up on the idea that Soonyoung would be returning to their little spot of the Changwon suburbs.

 

The new residents’ son had helped with that.

 

Their first encounter was in the midst of the night, a few days after the moving van had driven away. The signboard had been taken down by now, two holes in the ground where the prongs had been. Wonwoo had been staring at them despondently, toeing at the indentations until some dirt crumbled in and half-filled the hole again. He wondered whether that could be a metaphor for his heart, that after some time, the giant Soonyoung-shaped indent could be filled up and he’d be whole again. Dumb thought.

 

And then something had bonked him on the head.

 

He yelped in surprise and cast his eyes around in the dark for the perpetrator, narrowing his eyes when he spotted it: a small bear plushie, lying just a few metres away. He leant over and picked it up slowly, staring suspiciously at the room in the top right that used to be Soonyoung’s, now with its windowsill half-open.  

 

“Oi,” he half-yelled half-whispered, shaking the doll about, “is this yours?”

 

When no response came, he raised his voice a little louder, creeping nearer to the open window, “Hey!”

 

“Go away stalker.” A boy popped his head out of the window, complete with mussed bed hair, glaring crossly down at Wonwoo, “And take that thing with you, I don’t want it.”

 

“I’m not a stalker,” Wonwoo shot back, tossing the toy up and down in hand, trying to decide whether it’d be worth trying to chuck it back in his attacker’s face, given his terrible record in PE.

 

“You’ve been here for the last few nights. In a row.” The boy rolled his eyes and in a very mean move, flashed a torchlight right into Wonwoo’s eyes. “Not a stalker? _Pfft_ , yeah right. Scram.”

 

“You’re in my best friend’s room,” Wonwoo said, rather petulantly, “I have a right to be here. Closure and stuff.”

 

“Closure?” The boy disappeared for a second and then reappeared with another soft toy in his hand, aiming it deliberately over Wonwoo’s face, the path of a straight drop, “Why?”

 

“He went somewhere,” Wonwoo said and for the first time out loud, admitted it to himself, “and I don’t think he’s coming back.” He clutched the doll in his fist and took a big breath, trying not to let the tears well up in front of a stranger’s but not a strange, house. He didn’t like crying, he knew it made him look ugly. Soonyoung had said so himself. This time though, there wasn’t any follow-up hug to make him feel better about it. It was a repressed, deep-seated sadness that stung his insides and bloated him with numb anger.

 

“ _Aish_ ,” the boy above him stuttered, tough scowl dropped in favour of alarm, “are you crying?”

 

“Go away.” Wonwoo flung the doll up at the window and as predicted, it inaccurately bounced off the drain pipe and into the neighbour’s bushes. He really needed to get his glasses back.

“ _I_ live here now,” the boy had muttered, but it was softer, more pitying when he opened his mouth again and grunted. “Look. If you want closure you can, I don’t know, come over in the day tomorrow or sometime. You can come up to your friend’s - _my_ \- room if that’ll help.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” the boy grunted uncomfortably and ran a hand through his hair, “just let me sleep and stop creeping around here at night. It’s weird.”

 

“Okay,” Wonwoo had said, and he was almost prepared to leave it at that, briskly erasing all traces of liquid from his face. “But wait, what’s your name? I’m Jeon Wonwoo.”

 

“Lee Jihoon. Now go away.”

 

\--- 

 

“He’s not gone,” Wonwoo had said, sipping hard on a juice packet until it crinkled emptily under his fingers. The white plastic of the mouthpiece left an indentation on his lips from the sheer force of his suction. “He’s just M.I.A.”

 

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Jihoon had scoffed, stacking Cheezeroos on his slim fingers only to suck them off, three at a time. He blew away the neon orange cheese dust that had scattered on the homework Mrs Kim had given their class and scribbled down yet another answer.

 

“Nope,” Wonwoo let the husk of the juice packet rest against his chin and gave Jihoon a small smile, adjusting the glasses he’d managed to recover at the library’s front desk a few weeks back, “because missing just means he can be found.”)

 

“Your Honour! Please wait!”

 

Wonwoo jolts back into his skin, mouth gaping a little. “Boss?”

 

“You’re spiralling, Wonwoo,” Seungcheol gives him a little slap on the face, nothing too hard, “you need to stop it. There’s still time to save your brother.”

 

“How?” Wonwoo presses, flinging a suffering gaze at the gleeful murderer lingering at the bottom of the witness stand, ready to exit the courtroom and his deserved penalty. “I’ve basically failed my brother.” He scoffs self-deprecatingly, “He should’ve known better than to trust me.”

 

“Wonwoo,” his boss sighs and in that moment, Wonwoo sees how tired he is too. Providing so much emotional and professional support for Wonwoo’s own ass whilst juggling that big case he’d constantly holed up in his office working on can’t be easy, marked by the tender dark purple circles under his eyes, “do you know why I hired you?”

 

“Because my mum bought the office a coffee machine?” Wonwoo’s not entirely sure why they’ve started on this tangent but he’s fairly sure the coffee machine was the key, all begging aside. Seungcheol had been living off a one-litre kettle and a gigantic tin of instant coffee before his mother’s timely, though slightly corrupt, intervention.

 

“No.” Seungcheol’s voice hesitates a little at the end so yeah, okay, it was the coffee machine after all. That’s fine. “I mean okay, apart from the coffee machine. What’s the golden rule of Choi and Co?”

 

“Believe in your client,” Wonwoo recites promptly.

 

“Believe in your client,” Seungcheol echoes, brown eyes flashing fire. He’s always loved preaching this to Wonwoo, drilling it into his head like the poster tacked up in the breakroom didn’t exist in the most garish colours possible. Apparently, there had been no black ink in the printer that day. “So when I met you Jeon Wonwoo, the most stubborn person I know, I knew you’d be perfect. You don’t let go of your beliefs easily. And yet here you are, giving up on your own brother’s innocence?”

 

“I’m not doubting him, I just don’t know - “

 

“Just _think_. Out of the box. And quick,” Seungcheol gives the judge an apologetic smile as His Honour coughs pointedly in their direction, “because we’re running out of time.”

 

“But I can’t show that the clock was running slow on the day of the murder. No one can.”

 

“Assume it,” Seungcheol tells him insistently, eyes boring into his head. “Assume that it was running four hours slow and ask yourself _why_.”

 

“Why?” Wonwoo’s mind blanks and resets in an instant, mentally mapping out each piece of evidence they have in their arsenal. The autopsy, the statue-cum-clock, the blackout record. There’s one thing they haven’t considered, isn’t there…?

 

“The passport,” Wonwoo murmurs, and then more frenzied. “The passport!”

 

Of course. How could he have missed it?

 

“The victim’s passport, Attorney Jeon? What about it?”

 

“The prosecution presented the passport to demonstrate that the victim had just returned from Paris with her new boyfriend,” Wonwoo advances with a new gleam in his eyes, the bloodthirsty one he has when he’s viciously gunning down other players in Battlegrounds. This is it, he knows it. “Interestingly enough, something to note is that the time difference between South Korea and Paris is eight hours. When it’s five pm here, it’s one am there. You see it wasn’t four hours slow,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “it was eight hours fast! The witness hadn’t reset her clock after she’d returned home,” he whirls on the startled witness, ready to hammer in the last nail, “and that’s why you, Mr Ahn, heard the wrong time when you struck and killed her with it. Proof enough?”

 

He smirks, giving Ahn a completely unprofessional cheeky wave as the witness bursts into a fit of anger, barely comprehensible between curses and a confession.

 

“This should teach you not to run afowl of the law,” Wonwoo quips. No one else hears over the sound of Ahn being escorted out forcibly but Seungcheol gives him a dirty look.

 

What? He just won this case, he deserves to make at least _one_ chicken pun out loud.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“The police have arrested Mr Ahn and as of now, he is resting in a holding cell,” Prosecutor Hong explains smoothly, just a touch sheepish as he straightens his documents. “They’re doing a more thorough investigation into his background now, but it appears that he has had prior convictions overseas for petty theft. It seems that his day job as a delivery boy was a front to scope out when people weren’t home. He was attempting to burgle Miss Kim’s apartment when she came back to find him. And then, well,” he tilts his head to the side delicately, “the incident occurred. I will, of course, reprimand the primary detectives for failing to dig far enough into Mr Ahn’s background and personally take responsibility for this near miscarriage of justice.”

 

“He’s a good person, really,” Seungcheol mumbles under his breath, just loud enough for Wonwoo to hear, “for a prosecutor, at least.”

 

“Oh,” Prosecutor Hong adds, brightening up and pulling a wad of red flyers from his pocket, “and if anyone still wishes to have a flyer for CC Chicken, I’ve confiscated the vouchers from Mr Ahn. Feel free to take one.”

 

“Very good, Prosecutor Hong.” The judge is beaming when he taps his gavel against the block, clearly anticipating the chance to sate his stomach. “I say though, Attorney Choi, you’ve really picked a talented protege. Attorney Jeon, that was one of the fastest trials I’ve ruled over. And,” he chuckles, “one of the few where the true culprit was found at the same time! I expect great things for Choi and Co in the future, you understand?”

 

“Thank you, Your Honour,” Seungcheol says, radiating with pride as he slings an arm around Wonwoo like a father or an older brother. “We’ll do our best.”

 

“Alright, then,” the judge concludes jovially, stroking his beard with his left hand, “time to end this trial. Just in time for dinner, I think. This court finds Jeon Bohyuk... not guilty.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Wonwoo finally manages to extricate himself from his mother’s teary sobs and his brother’s long wordless hug, he finds Seungcheol standing by the pillar near the courthouse’s exit. Walking up to him, he’s only slightly surprised to find Prosecutor Hong leaning up against the pillar and chatting with him, the two of them bumping shoulders and conversing animatedly.

 

“Oh, Attorney Jeon! Congratulations!”

 

Prosecutor Hong is the first to notice him and beckons him over sweetly. He’s really got a face made for first loves, Wonwoo realises as he draws closer, the open and trustworthy kind. It doesn’t stop his metaphorical hackles from rising.

 

“You did a good job today,” Prosecutor Hong tells him, nodding and displaying his brilliant white and perfect teeth. “If I knew you were so good I would’ve put more effort into what I _thought_ was a cut and dry case.” He laughs, covering his mouth with his hand. “That should teach me, huh?”

 

“Don’t blame yourself,” Seungcheol is quick to nudge his friend, “I’ve just got an incredibly talented protege.” He gives Wonwoo his best smile, his happiest one. The one where his dimples cut deep into his cheeks and his eyes crease into joyful sloping slits.

 

“ _Boss_.” Wonwoo flushes and reflexively crosses his arms across his body, tucking himself inwards. “You know I wouldn’t have made it through without you.”

 

“Wonwoo, the trial is over,” Seungcheol rebukes playfully, tutting at him. “You can call me hyung again.”

 

“You can call me hyung too, Jisoo-hyung, if you want,” Prosecutor Hong twinkles at him, eyes forming perfect crinkly crescents. “I promise I’m a lot nicer outside of court.”

 

Wonwoo nods warily. He’s still a little distrustful, considering the stunt Jisoo had pulled in court: dragging his brother up to the stand, setting all those traps. Sure, it’s sort of his job, but for Wonwoo it takes on a personal sting.

 

“Not when you’re with Jeonghan, you’re not,” Seungcheol grumbles sulkily, “you two gang up on me every time.”

 

“It’s his version of affection, you know that,” Jisoo giggles, adjusting his jacket, pointedly not accepting any of the blame himself. “Anyways, I’m sure you two have a lot to discuss after that trial. I’ll leave you be, I’ve got my own debriefing to get to.”

 

“Right, ‘debriefing’,” Seungcheol snorts disbelievingly, licking his chapped lips. “In other words, Jeonghan’s office?”

 

“No,” Jisoo counters smartly with a little huff, slapping Seungcheol lightly on the shoulder. “Kwon’s actually. And you know how strict he can be about it.”

 

Wonwoo’s breath catches in his throat, a fish hook made of air and acid.

 

“Yeah yeah,” Seungcheol shrugs off good-naturedly, checking his phone off-handedly as a text chimes in. Whatever it is, it puts him in a good mood. “Well, Wonwoo and I have our own formal debriefing to do tonight.” Wonwoo almost thinks he’s serious until Seungcheol cracks a large smile, pulling out a red flyer that he’s seen way too much of today. “Chicken and Overwatch?”

 

“I knew you weren’t serious.” Jisoo runs a hand through his hair and checks the time on his phone, murmuring something under his breath as he tucks it away inside his outerwear. “Well, time for me to report back.” He gives them a little wave goodbye, prosecutor’s badge glinting bright. “I’ll see you around Seungcheol! And you too, Attorney Jeon! It was lovely meeting you - a really great debut and a well-deserved win. Congratulations again.”

 

“He’s not going to get in trouble for losing, right?” Wonwoo mumbles hesitantly in Jisoo’s wake, the other man striding down the steps of the courthouse and into the shiny black car that’s stopped in front of the building. “That seems harsh.”

 

“Nah,” Seungcheol assures him, blinking curiously. “Not a scolding, if that’s what you mean. It’s more like a self-evaluation, really. Reflecting on what he could’ve done better, what the detectives missed.” He wiggles his eyebrows at Wonwoo. “How the defence attorney performed, et cetera. I’m sure the Prosecutor’s Office will be very interested in that turnabout you managed.” He makes a face, screwing his features up into a tight crinkled ball. “Maybe they’ll even pit the ‘Hurricane Prosecutor’ against you for your next trial, God help us.”

 

Wonwoo’s heart speeds up at that, the entire contents of his chest army-crawling their way up his esophagus. God help him indeed.

 

“But you’re the kind of person who’ll be able to do well no matter what.” Seungcheol chuckles at his blank face, kindly not bringing up his constipated expression. “It doesn’t matter who you’re against. All you need to do is believe in your client and fight for them. That’s how we find the truth.” He adopts a more serious expression as they stroll out of the building, the wind suddenly changing direction as they step out, mussing up Seungcheol’s hair. “To believe in them, though, you need to believe in yourself, with or without me there as your counsel.”

 

“Please, hyung. The day you leave me alone in court is gonna be an automatic loss,” Wonwoo protests, only half-exaggerating, as they draw nearer to Seungcheol’s beat up car that’s parked slightly slanted in the lot. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

“Nah,” Seungcheol muses, appraising Wonwoo over the roof of his car as the younger tries to fold his lanky limbs into the passenger seat. “I think you have a lot of potential to grow. As long as you never let go of what you believe in.”

 

“Very sage-like,” Wonwoo teases lightly, strapping himself in as Seungcheol pulls out of the parking lot, heading towards the light of the exit. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

 

As the Seoul skyscrapers blur together into one big rectangle of concrete and glass, Wonwoo absentmindedly hums along to the girl group song playing on the radio. Never let go of what you believe in, huh? Well, he’s honed that down to an art.

 

His right hand drifts to the pocket where his wallet is stored, mind lingering on the neat bundle of newspaper clippings tucked deeply in its crevasses, carrying headlines like _Prosecutor Prodigy Does It Again: Ten Years Jail Time for Lotteland Kidnapper_ , _Hurricane Prosecutor Brings Destruction: Bribery and Fake Evidence Rumours Resurface_ , _Clever or Corrupt: Prosecutor Kwon’s Perfect Win Record Under Investigation_ ’. All this, and Wonwoo still clings on to the idea of _him_ , the way he knew him at least, from over ten years ago?

  
Never let go: maybe he’s a little _too_ good at that.

**Author's Note:**

> many many many thanks to dani (ao3 user wandr) for being the most lovely and supportive beta in the history of ever, your efforts raise the quality of this fic from a meagre 0.03 to at least a strong 4.7 out of 10~ shoutout also to viv for all your cheerleading, soonwoonet admins for organising this fic fest and cat for your marriage proposal!! i hope this lives up to your expectations ^.^'
> 
> this fic comes from my adoration of both ace attorney and the soonwoo bois - leave a comment or scream about either with me on twitter (@sysupportgroup)!! also note that this is definitely not how courts works lmao please suspend your disbelief~
> 
> additionally, please keep an eye on this fic's tags, they'll be updated with each court case jww tackles!! 
> 
> thank you for reading <333


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